


Broken Crown

by Scarlet_Gryphon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, angst like whoa, pairing: sabriel (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Gryphon/pseuds/Scarlet_Gryphon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate</i>-- Mumford and Sons, "Broken Crown"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Crown

**Author's Note:**

> For Kylie (Aka [Caramelfeathers](http://caramelfeathers.tumblr.com)), who [wanted this fic](http://caramelfeathers.tumblr.com/post/32645288397/im-in-the-mood-for-some-seriously-angsty-sabriel). This was going to be short, but then it went a little crazy. Also, gratuitous classic lit geekery and angst. Oh Lord, the angst. Title from the Mumford and Sons song of the name. Rating: PG-13 for Language.

Gabriel made a last few adjustments to the candles he’d set on the table, lighting them with a match instead of simply snapping them alight. He’d been determined to make everything by hand rather than using his powers, wanting to prove to Sam that he could do stuff the normal— read, _human_ —way, hopefully showing the hunter that he’d changed, just like Gabriel had said. The food was keeping warm in the ovens (a brown sugar glazed ham, green bean casserole, and baked sweet potatoes) and staying chilled in the refrigerator (a Caesar salad with light dressing, Jello salad, and a sweet white wine). Gabriel checked the sweet potatoes, taking them out when they looked perfectly brown on top. The ham was next, followed by the casserole and Caesar salad; the Jello could stay in the fridge for now, though. He finished off by taking out the wine, pouring two glasses full before setting it an ice bucket on a side table. A book sat next to Sam’s place; the signed first-edition of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ was one of the things Gabriel was the most proud of finding, even if it meant having to make a quick trip back in time to buy it and then get Harper Lee to autograph it.

Gabriel took a seat at the table, idly straightening his clothes in his nervousness. He was wearing a forest green dress shirt, black pants, and nice shoes; nothing too wild, but still classy enough for his purposes. He just hoped Sam would like it. Gabriel took a sip from his wine and glanced at the clock. Five minutes until Sam was due to arrive. Gabriel grinned and then settled back in his chair, wine glass in hand. This was going to be great.

—-

The food had been stone cold for three hours and the ice melted in its bucket when Gabriel finally gave in and snapped everything away, making it disappear into thin air. He had tried calling Sam several times, but the hunter hadn’t bothered answering. Hell, Gabriel had even tried to get ahold of Cas or Dean, but they hadn’t picked up, either. With a huff of annoyance, Gabriel flew away (but not before picking up a particular item) from the hotel room he’d rented for a few days— and promptly redecorated to his satisfaction —focusing on the feel of Castiel’s Grace (the only way he could track the Winchesters, thanks to those damn Enochian sigils on their ribs). He reappeared outside a rundown motel on some desolate highway, the Impala sitting in the parking lot a sure sign that the Winchesters were there.

Gabriel tracked Castiel’s Grace to room 19, also sensing the presence of two humans in close proximity to him. Gabriel strode up to the door of 19 and knocked sharply, arms crossed over his chest. Castiel opened the door, his expression closing off when he saw who had knocked.

“Gabriel.”

“Hey ya, Cassie. Is Sam in?” Gabriel asked tersely. “I need to have a talk with him.”

“I don’t think—” Castiel began, but Gabriel pushed past him and bulled his way into the room, striding up to where Sam was sitting at the table. He ignored Dean’s startled exclamation, his eyes fixed firmly on the youngest Winchester.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Winchester,” Gabriel said, voice tight, “but you could have at least called me and told me _why_ you weren’t coming. I kind of thought you had more class than that. Apparently not, asshat.” He threw the object he’d picked up before leaving his hotel room onto the table next to Sam, and then stalked back outside, leaving the door wide open behind him.

Sam looked down at the book, surprised. He carefully picked it up, fingers ghosting over the dust jacket before he gently opened the book. His eyes widened at the short note he found inside.

 _To Sam,_ it read. _May you always be seen for who you truly are._

_Harper Lee_

A folded piece of paper fell out of the book as well; Sam set down the novel (how did Gabriel know it was his favorite? Sam had never told anyone) and then opened the note.  
 _  
Sam, I thought you might like this. It reminds me of you, actually. Well, not the racism, obviously, but the message behind the story: what we look like on the outside does not define who or what we really are. The face of a man can hide a devil or an angel; you just have to know how to look. Thanks for taking the time to find out which one I was, even if I didn’t always know myself._

_Yours,_

_Gabriel._

The color drained from Sam’s face as he stared blankly down at the note in his hands. His mind was devoid of all thoughts except for one: he had sorely misjudged Gabriel’s intentions, and now he’d have to pay the price. Ignoring Dean’s insistent repetitions of “What the _hell_ is going on, Sammy?!”, Sam bolted up from his chair and out of the room, the note still clutched in his hand. The parking lot was empty, with only a few cars and the Impala sitting in it.

Sam was about to turn and go back into the room when he heard the sound of glass shattering somewhere nearby. Instantly on alert, Sam approached the sound’s source, which was on the far side of the Impala. He found Gabriel sitting next to the Impala’s back left wheel, a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass at his side. Shards of glass lay several feet away at the base of a low wall; the light from a nearby street-lamp glinted off the surprisingly unbroken stem of another wineglass. Gabriel didn’t seem to notice Sam’s approach, but given his internally focused expression, Sam didn’t think the angel would’ve noticed a firetruck going by with sirens blaring.

Gabriel was drinking straight from the wine bottle, draining it and then snapping up a fresh open one once he’d finished it. “If you’ve come to apologize, you’re too late,” he said, not looking at Sam. “Go back to your room. I won’t stay here long, so tell Dean he doesn’t have to worry about me messing with his precious car.”

“Gabriel, I—”

“You made your intentions perfectly clear, Sam. Have a good life.” Gabriel lifted his hand to snap himself away and then clicked his fingers, disappearing into thin air. The wine and glass was left behind, however. Sam ran his hand through his hair before taking Gabriel’s vacated space and leaning back against the wheel-well of the Impala. With a soft sigh, Sam picked up the abandoned wine bottle and poured a measure of alcohol into the glass before taking a drink. He let out another sigh, this one more bitter than the first. The wine was perfect. Of course.

Sam banged his head back against the tire, ignoring the burst of pain that the action caused. He had been an idiot, plain and simple, and he had no idea how to fix it. Great. Just… great.


End file.
